The daily Astorian., June 10, 2016, WEEKEND EDITION, Page 2C, Image 22

2C
THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, JUNE 10, 2016
Epic cruise of the USS Albatross netted details of pioneer fi shermen
By MATT WINTERS
EO Media Group
T
he 1887 to 1889 cruise of the
USS Albatross all along the main-
land West Coast would have been
an awe-inspiring adventure for anyone
interested in American industrial and
social history.
The resulting “Report on the Fisheries
of the Pacifi c Coast of the United States,”
by J.W. Collins based on work by W.A.
Wilcox and A.B. Alexander, is one of the
best fi rst-hand accounts we possess about
the people and resources of the West Coast
in a pivotal period. The Albatross poked
into dozens of “small streams, bays, and
harbors along the coast, many of which
had not previously been investigated.”
The original edition of the report —
I recently found one for about $20 —
is packed with detailed charts of river
mouths and estuaries, showing can-
neries, fi sh traps, gillnet drifts, shell-
fi sh beds and dozens of other features.
The charts of the Columbia River are
humble masterpieces, but far too large to
reproduce for a newspaper article.
Here in the Columbia-Willapa area, the big
news in 1888-89 was salmon, distantly followed
by oysters. There were 122 West Coast salmon
canneries, including 36 in Alaska and 24 in Brit-
ish Columbia. Oregon had 35 — mostly centered
on Astoria — and Washington state had 18 split
between the Columbia, Willapa Bay, Grays Har-
bor and Puget Sound. There were nine canneries
in California. Together, these canneries produced
nearly 82 million 1 -pound cans in 1889.
Between 1875 and 1889, West Coast can-
neries consumed 876 million pounds of salmon,
which the report notes is equivalent to 1 million
head of cattle. These salmon generated retail sales
of $75 million in 1889 gold — roughly $4.45 bil-
lion today.
Salmon in that pre-dam era were still a force
of nature. “When the Almighty made the salmon
he endowed it with a degree of obstinacy unparal-
leled in the animal kingdom. The persistent cour-
age of the bulldog and the wild charge of the buf-
falo when stampeded is nothing compared to the
unending rush of the salmon upstream when he
makes his annual trip from the ocean to his favor-
ite spawning ground,” according to a passage
from the April 20, 1884 issue of the Alta Califor-
nia newspaper quoted in the fi sheries report.
Columbia pack winding down
Salmon packing was declining in Astoria by the
late 1880s as fi sheries investments migrated up to
the highly productive waters of Alaska. There were
17 canneries in Astoria in 1887, 14 in 1888 and 11
in 1889. In 1889, Astoria’s population was 5,000 in
the winter and 6,000-plus in salmon season.
Even though declining, salmon fi shing
remained a massive economic powerhouse:
“The canning industry on the Columbia sup-
ports the most important river salmon fi shery in
the world. It has built up and still maintains many
settlements, and gives employment to much capi-
tal and a large number of people. The annual prod-
uct is measured only by the millions of dollars, and
it is doubtless safe to say that nowhere else on the
globe has a like area of water produced such an
immense yearly yield of wealth.”
The report includes this atmospheric
description:
?
9-1-WHAT?
THE BEST OF THE WORST CALLS TO ASTORIA 911 DISPATCH
U.S. Army History Institute
The USS Albatross was an iron-hulled, twin-screw U.S. Navy steamer. It may
have been the first vessel ever built specifically for marine research, often operat-
ing out of the still-famous oceanographic science center at Woods Hole, Massachusetts.
In 1887-89, the Albatross made a major survey of West Coast fisheries.
“Astoria has many peculiarities, among which
is the fact that it is built on piling and extends out
over the river; the steep hills that come down to the
water’s edge afford little opportunity for the erec-
tion of dwellings, stores, etc., and it has therefore
been necessary to construct the town in the manner
mentioned. Another cause for building the city this
way was that the river was shallow at this point,
and it was necessary to extend the limits of the
town some distance into the stream to get the req-
uisite depth of water to enable ships to fl oat while
loading. In recent years some private residences
have been built on the side of the hills back of the
business portion of the town. There are few places
in the world that are centers of greater activity than
Astoria during the salmon season, but at other
times it is comparatively quiet and uninteresting.”
On the same page, the report describes Ilwaco
as “a small settlement of a few hundred inhab-
itants, situated on Baker’s Bay, in the center of
the pound-net fi shery. It is the southern terminus
of the railroad line to Shoalwater Bay. Its inhabi-
tants are engaged chiefl y in fi shing and in operat-
ing the lumber mills of the region. There is a can-
nery located at Ilwaco. A large percentage of the
catch taken at Baker’s Bay goes to other canneries
on both sides of the river.”
In its section on Shoalwater (Willapa) Bay, the
report notes that freight charges on the new Ilwaco
Railway & Navigation Co. were too high, leading
oystermen to convey their products by boat to the
south end of the bay and then 7 miles overland to
Ilwaco for transshipment to the south or east.
Fishing lives: 1888
It’s highly evocative of this lost era to learn of
the practices of Columbia River estuary gillnetters.
“During the fi shing season the fi shermen live
a good deal on board their boats. After the nets
are hauled and the catch disposed of, the boats are
often run into some cove or bay, where they are
brought to anchor. The fi shermen in each boat then
unship the rudder and set it up amidships to sup-
port one end of the gaff, the other end of which
rests upon the bow. The sail is thrown over the
gaff, like an awning, and this constitutes the roof
to an improvised cabin or cuddy, under which the
crew sleep. Coffee or tea is made over a lamp, and
when the meal has been eaten the men crawl under
the sail and sleep until the tide is favorable for fi sh-
ing. It is not uncommon to see hundreds of boats
anchored in this manner along the coves or bends
in the river, out of the way of passing steamers.
Absolute quiet reigns, and one who for the fi rst
time sees such a fl eet, literally sleeping upon the
river, is little prepared for the scene of busy activ-
ity presented when it wakes with the turning tide,
and the broad bosom of the great river is almost
instantly covered with boats putting out from all
directions.”
Growing steamboat traffi c was a signifi cant
factor for the fi shing fl eet. In about 1888, canner-
ies quit providing nets to the fi shermen. “A com-
mon saying on the Columbia is that a fi shermen
who is fi shing his own net rarely ‘catches a steam-
boat in it,’ a phrase due to the fact that formerly,
when the nets were owned by the canneries, the
gear was often destroyed by passing steamboats,
because the men did not exercise the necessary
care to avoid such mishaps.”
On April 11, 1886, gillnet fi shermen orga-
nized as an association named the Columbia River
Fishermen’s Protective Union — still in exis-
tence in 2016. No love was lost between gillnet-
ters and their era’s economic villains. The follow-
ing excerpt from the union’s constitution shows
the limitations of membership (rich folks need not
apply):
“No liquor dealer, gambler, politician, capital-
ist, lawyer, agent of or for capitalists, nor persons
holding offi ce, whether under the national, s tate or
municipal government, shall under any consider-
ation become members of this organization, but all
such shall be strictly excluded from membership
in this union. No stockholder or shareholder of any
cannery is eligible to membership in this union.”
Dues were $4 a year or $1 per month for
the fi shing season. There were no benefi ts,
except $50 toward the burial of members
in good standing. There was a decent
chance a member might need this
assistance. The U.S. Life Saving
Service at Fort Canby — now U.S.
Coast Guard Station Cape Disappoint-
ment — reported that, “In 1888, 14 gill-
net fi shermen and four who were engaged
in operating pound nets lost their lives
between Kalama and the outer bars of the
Columbia. Most of the boats, however,
were picked up, only three being reported
as a total loss.” There were years when
losses were far worse.
The union’s main essential function
was leveling the playing fi eld in nego-
tiations with cannery owners. Also, as a
practical matter, non members couldn’t
fi sh:
“The union fi xes the price of gill-net
salmon at the beginning of the season. ...
No gill net fi shermen except a member of
the union can sell salmon at the canner-
ies, since a canner who bought of others
would be liable to have his supply of fi sh
cut off. The employment of a non union
man on the boats is strictly prohibited.
... Nets are all handmade by the fi shermen them-
selves or their families; the fi shermen’s union pro-
hibits the use by any of its members of factory or
Chinese-made nets.”
The union told the fi sheries survey that the
average catch per boat in 1888 was about 500 fi sh,
for which the canneries paid $1.25 each. “In the
early history of the fi shery it was not uncommon
for a boat to catch four or fi ve times that number,”
the report asserts.
In 1888 there were 1,578 gillnets valued at
$262,725 engaged in fi shing on the Columbia,
plus two seines valued at $1,050, 52 weirs and
pound nets valued at $40,050 and 24 fi sh wheels
valued at $63,613.
Fishing was a tough life, but one that was rea-
sonably rewarding for at least some West Coast
fi shermen in the 1880s.
The report includes this quote from the San
Francisco Chronicle, Nov. 11, 1883:
“The fi shermen’s life is full of hardship and
work. The dangers of the calling are manifold. They
are hardy, temperate, and frugal. Their days are
spent on the water and their families see but little
of them. They are generous and kind to each other.
They are keen in business matters, and do not allow
themselves to be cheated by dealers on shore. Some
of them have amassed a competency and retired
from business. There are but few instances of pov-
erty to be seen among them, and nearly all of them
have a snug sum put by for emergencies. ... They
are seldom idle. After a trip has been made and
the boat’s load of fi sh sold, they may generally be
found on their boats or the adjoining wharf, repair-
ing or drying their nets and seines, making lines and
adding hooks, or doing some kind of labor on their
boats, preparatory to another fi shing voyage.”
The report’s author scoffs a little at this rela-
tively rosy picture, noting that while outright des-
titution was uncommon among fi shermen, some
just barely got by. If the union was correct in its
1888 estimate, income per boat was $625, split
two ways — a modest living at best. Then, as now,
fi shermen probably looked for logging jobs or
other seasonal work when not fi shing.
As 21st century gillnetters struggle to pre-
serve what is left of a proud way of life, we should
refl ect on their links to this amazing tradition of
honorable labor on the water.
Local knowledge
W
e may not be very sophisticated out here on the coast and what not,
but we know our seafood.
So when two people in Seaside tried to sell a man $150 worth of
crab for $10, they “left in a hurry when they discovered he was a local.”
Follow reporter Kyle Spurr on his 9-1-What? Twitter watch, where a few of
the sometimes head-scratching calls to area dispatch take center stage. The full
feed is at www.twitter.com/9_1_WHAT.
3 W AY S TO GE T
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